


i'm afraid you're never satisfied

by theomegapoint



Series: Kinktober 2018 [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (And Also Orgasms), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Don't Try This At Home, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Medical Kink, Milking, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, unrealistic amounts of come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theomegapoint/pseuds/theomegapoint
Summary: John knows better than to agree to anything Sherlock asks for without knowing what it is, exactly. That's his first mistake. His second mistake is not sayingnowhen Sherlock pulls out a complicated contraption that he can't make heads or tails of at first.Instead: “What is it?”





	i'm afraid you're never satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> This is like . . . the epitome of "do not try this at home, it is incredibly unsafe and this is fiction," but shhhhhh. Just shut off that bit of your brain and enjoy. It's fine. I'm here and I support you.

John knows better than to agree to anything Sherlock asks for without knowing what it is, exactly. That's his first mistake. His second mistake is not saying _no_ when Sherlock pulls out a complicated contraption that he can't make heads or tails of at first.

Instead: “What is it?”

“A breast pump,” Sherlock says distractedly.

“. . . Sherlock, we're both alphas.”

“I'm well aware, John.” Sherlock is frowning at the machine he's setting up, slotting things into place and positioning things. “It was specified in the ad when you moved in. I've modified this for use in other areas.”

That doesn't necessarily bode well, nor does it sound particular safe, but even that doesn't make John tell Sherlock to stop. He really ought to learn to say _no_ to Sherlock when it comes to this sort of thing, but right now he's more curious than alarmed by Sherlock's declaration.

“So I'm your guinea pig.”

“If you'd like to think of it that way,” Sherlock says. He adjusts some settings on his device and plugs it in. “On the bed. Preferably naked.”

Against his better judgment, perhaps, John does as Sherlock asks. He undresses and settles onto the bed, in the center since that's where Sherlock generally seems to want him. Once he's settled, Sherlock attaches several monitors to John's chest. One is for heart rate, John thinks, and another is probably for temperature. He has no idea what the rest are for and knowing Sherlock, there's a good chance he wouldn't _want_ to know. There's a steady, quiet whir from Sherlock's machine, and John can't quite ignore it while Sherlock gives him the world's most clinical handjob.

“Are you going to tell me what we're doing?”

“I've determined that telling you beforehand would invalidate the results.” Sherlock flicks his wrist in the way that never fails to make John harden. “I have no doubts that you'll meet or exceed expectations, however.”

John means to give a snarky reply, but Sherlock's thumb catches under the head of his cock and yeah. Yeah, his body is on board with whatever's going on right now. He's so distracted that he doesn't notice Sherlock fitting something around his cock until it's too late. At this point, there's nothing to be done but submit to whatever nonsense experiment Sherlock wants to do.

For one naive moment, John thinks that this experiment might not be as bad as some of the other ones that Sherlock has put him though. Then, the machine starts working him and it slowly dawns on John what Sherlock must be testing. He's expressed and interest in the subject before, how much come John could produce in a single session and how many times John could achieve release before it became too painful.

Sometimes, John resents the clinical and scientific approach Sherlock has towards sex. Right now, he's almost glad for it. It keeps him from coming embarrassingly quickly and probably causing Sherlock to mutter about inconclusive data. John doesn't know if he has it in him to run this particular experiment more than once, given how Sherlock will stop at nothing short of a safeword when they're running these experiments.

The knowledge that Sherlock _will_ stop, though, is what keeps John from saying it. He knows he can, if he needs to, but nothing is overwhelming yet. This is something he can handle, at least for a little while.

“You can come whenever,” Sherlock says. He's focused on the readouts on his machine, adjusting settings in a way that makes John groan. “Good or bad?”

“Good,” John says. He has no doubt that Sherlock has done some sort of calculation on the exact amount of simulation an alpha's penis needs to be brought to orgasm and the exact number of PSI to use to stimulate an omega bearing down on an alpha's knot. “ _Really_ good.”

Sherlock hums, distractedly, and John loses track of time. He comes once and barely has time to catch his breath before Sherlock's blasted machine is massaging him again, trying to coax him into hardness. It's not _quite_ painful yet, but John's thinking that his cock is going to be sore for days after this particular experiment.

“Sixty milliliters,” Sherlock says. “Interesting.”

John isn't coherent enough to say something back to Sherlock, but he doesn't seem to except it anyway. His eyes haven't moved from the readings and data that the machine is taking, which give john something to focus on when things edge too close to painful. Time is utterly meaningless by the time he comes again.

“Thirty milliliters,” Sherlock says. “That's unexpected.”

The third time is on the right side of painful. It's painful in the good way, the sexy way, and John can handle it. He's not really a painslut, per se, but he enjoys a little pain now and again. It's part of the reason why he agreed to let Sherlock do this: nobody else would have the guts to push him like this, and sometimes it's nice to be utterly at someone else's mercy. He comes, barely able to process that Sherlock is saying something before the machine is at work again.

It's not quite comfortable this time, the fourth time, but it's _manageable_ still. He can handle the way every bit of pressure on his cock almost burns. He comes, and John is almost entirely sure that he couldn't form a word if he wanted to. When the machine starts up again, John whimpers and Sherlock's attention focuses on him for the first time since they started.

“Color,” Sherlock says.

It takes John's tongue a moment to remember how words are formed, how to make noise.

“Gr'n,” he manages, and Sherlock nods.

They don't stop, the machine wringing him through a fifth and a sixth orgasm before it suddenly stops, and there's a cool washcloth being laid across John's forehead. When John opens is eyes, unaware that he'd ever closed them, Sherlock is peering down at him, almost concerned.

“You passed out,” Sherlock says. “I decided that was probably your limit. I'm going to sit nearby until you're coherent again, but you did well.”

Sherlock's fingers card through John's hair, and he lets his eyes flutter shut again. Everything is sore, but John can't find it in himself to be anything but content.


End file.
